


Nature of Thorns

by Schingiuire



Category: Hellsing
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Master/Slave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 17:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14289690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schingiuire/pseuds/Schingiuire
Summary: A quiet night leads to a conversation between master and slave on the nature of plants and men.





	Nature of Thorns

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Hellsing nor any of the characters. 
> 
> Notes: This is something I wrote years ago that I only recently uncovered again and thought I would place it back into the fold. It's...sort of spiky fluff. Enjoy!

Dracula stepped cautiously from the doorway, his eyes scanning the gardens before him, searching for any sign of human life. Sensing nothing, the vampire moved onto the cobblestone path that wove through the maze of flowers and trees. Rarely did he leave the manor, avoiding Abraham and the other house staff as much as possible. He moved as fluidly as shadow, a ghost walking among blooming flowers and the sweet smells of spring.

The garden was almost a forest, with a high wall of shrubs boxing it in from the rest of the world. The moon was full and high, sending its glowing light down onto the small haven. Dracula paused to admire a night blossoming flower, reaching out with a scarred hand to brush his fingers over the petals.

“Marvelous isn’t it?” a soft, deep voice inquired from behind.

A chill swept through the vampire’s body, tingling at the fifteen, still relatively fresh trails of silver wounds that patterned across his back. He was still healing from the earlier afternoon’s verbal fight turned punishment with Abraham.

“It is,” Dracula replied softly, having long since given up attempting to discover how the human evaded his senses. He believed it was part of the magic Abraham had been experimenting with. He tensed, feeling the weight of the human’s hand resting on his shoulder as Abraham moved to stand beside him. Dracula pulled his hand away from the flower, tucking it with his other beneath the heavy laboratory cloth he had wrapped around him like a monk’s robe. It was made of a thick material, and was often used by Abraham to cover bloodied subjects when he was working.

Abraham gave the vampire’s shoulder a soft squeeze, then moved past him, advancing through the garden’s maze with his hands in his pockets. The night was warm, Dracula noticed, and Abraham was without the coat he normally donned.

He felt it then, the unseen chord that stretched between them like a taught leash. He had felt it ever since the last session of madness in the lowers. Abraham never explained his workings, and everything was a surprise, or some kind of scientific test like a rat with cheese in a maze. The vampire shook his head, feeling a cool, night breeze blow through his hair and ruffle the sheet of cloth he draped about himself. He wasn’t sure why, but his legs began to move of their own accord, following after this man who had brutalized him for nearly two years.

Perhaps it was due to the seeds of slowly growing respect for Abraham, but Dracula followed as Abraham moved through the garden, admiring the flowers and the stars. The human never seemed to notice the shadow that trailed after him, moving silently upon bare feet across the pathway. Abraham seated himself upon a stone bench, crossing his arms as he seemed deep in thought, staring at the plants. Dracula stood, unsure as he watched, his hair blowing about his face. Finally, he continued forward, sliding to sit beside Abraham upon the stone, but being careful to maintain distance. He sat slightly bent away from Abraham, tense and prepared to move away quickly if needed.

“I once read an interesting novel, comparing men to plants. That any man could be described as a plant by his personality and actions.” Abraham paused after the sentence, tilting his head back to smile up to the moon. “It was such a strange book, I could not help but finish it. I have spent many nights sitting here and wondering what kind of plant I would be, and I think I have finally realized it.”

Dracula raised one sleek eyebrow, wondering which of them was more mad. He crossed his legs, adjusting his position to sit more relaxed, judging Abraham to be in too strange a mood to be dangerous. “And what,” he offered in a hiss of a voice. “Would that be?”

“A cacti,” Abraham replied with a chuckle.

The vampire blinked, his thin lips tightening as he smirked. “Hardly a flattering plant.”

Abraham laughed, letting his hands fall to rest on his thighs. “Yes, truly. But I have thought about it often. I surround myself with very obvious defenses, like the thorns of a cacti. No one dares come near me, I protect only myself and no others, always looking out for only myself. I punish anyone who tries to care for me, and those who wish to admire me, do so from a distance. Rarely do I offer anything to attract people, and if I do, it is always hidden behind a wall of thorns and spines.”

He looked over to Dracula, eyes relaxed and observant. “You, Count, are a rose.”

The vampire tilted his head, both eyebrows now raised. “Am I? And why do you say that?”

“Because,” Abraham continued, sounding almost as if he did not even hear the vampire’s words. “You hide your thorns beneath a bush of bright leaves. You produce a great flower to attract the attention of anyone who walks by. You trick and tease them closer, offering the flower to be picked, making all near you envious of your beauty.”

He reached out then, cupping Dracula’s cheek in his hand. The vampire tensed, eyes widening slightly as Abraham’s eyes bore into his, reading the decayed soul beneath. “And when someone dares reach out to take that beauty, your thorns prick them, stealing their blood and giving them pain. Even then, even after that pain and betrayal dealt, people will still try to steal the flower.”

Dracula did not move, even as Abraham’s thumb brushed over his lips and cheek. “But I am of the type to let the rose flower stay upon it’s plant. It lasts longer, and I will not be pricked.”

Chuckling, Abraham stood, letting his hand flow from the vampire’s face to brush through the wild strands of ebony hair. Dracula remained where he was, long after Abraham had left. He felt a chill through his entire body, all except for a point of burning where Abraham had brushed his face. Defiantly, the vampire rose, approaching the hulking form of the cacti. He crouched, reaching out, and careful to avoid the thorns, brushed his fingers over the thick plant.

“I suppose you cannot keep everyone out,” he mused to himself with a smirk.


End file.
